After an Afternoon
by kelcb26
Summary: Missing scene from 'Clean and Sober' inspired by the song, 'After an Afternoon', by Jason Mraz. Oneshot. PJ


_**A/N: **This is just a missing scene from 'Clean and Sober' that has been floating around in my brain for over a year now, inspired by the Jason Mraz song, 'After an Afternoon'. I always thought there was a little something they left out of that episode. In my mind, Joey and Pacey met up after their Best Buy excursion (and the delivery of Bertha), but before the party. And, here's what might've happened...   
_

_**After an Afternoon**_

****

It all started with The Thesis of the Orange Knit Hat.

Or maybe it was earlier, when she told him she was going to check out the iPods.

It could've been before or after, or a million times in between. Pinning one down wouldn't make a difference. They'd all land him in the same place.

On the edge.

Of what, he couldn't say for sure.

He only knew he'd been here before.

"So then, one of the clerks walks past, you know with the blue vest on, nametag, the whole nine and _she_ looks down at the hat, and then asks if it's mine!"

"And this happened after short perky girl in front of you inquired about the hat?"

"Yes! Two people, in the span of sixty seconds, both assumed a dirty, bright orange knit cap belonged to me, just because it happened to be lying near my cart. Can you believe it? I mean, do I look like the type of person who would wear an orange knit cap? Especially one that is like two sizes too big for my head?"

"Yeah, about that, I've been meaning to tell you."

"What?"

"Well, lately I've noticed, your melon…it's gotten a bit…rounder."

"My _melon_?"

"Yeah, you know," reaching out, he snaked an arm around her neck, pulling her into a headlock and playfully ruffling her hair, "your noodle, your noggin, your…"

Before he could finish, she wrestled from his grasp, pushing him away with an incredulous gleam in her eyes. "Are you saying I have a big head?"

"Yes, but only in the literal sense."

"Excuse me." Stopping dead in her tracks, her hands immediately flew to her hips in defensive stance. "Are you new? Dawson is the official Big-Headed member of our group."

"Look in the mirror, Babe, because I think you might be giving him a run for his money," he deadpanned as he kept going, walking backwards to watch her reaction. "That's all I'm saying." Suppressing a smirk, he turned and picked up his pace, knowing she'd be hot on his heels.

Running to catch up with his quickly retreating form, Joey was distraught. "Pacey Witter, you get back here! You can't make such a ridiculous observation and then just walk away!"

"That's exactly what I'm doing," he threw over his shoulder. "And it's not ridiculous."

Finally reaching him, she clutched his arm. "No, it's downright ludicrous! My head stopped growing years ago. It can't just start blowing up overnight!"

"Oh, but it can. And if you don't believe me, we can go get proof."

"Proof?" she snorted in disbelief. "How in the world are you going to prove there's been an increase in my head circumference?"

"Duh, Jo," he mocked, before adding matter-of-factly, "we'll go back and get the orange hat. I hear it's your color."

"No, it's _your_ color." She poked him in the chest to accentuate her words, then commenced walking, calling back to him in an attempt to turn the tables, "Although not so much anymore."

Now it was Pacey's turn to chase after her. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Well," she whirled on him so quickly he almost lost his balance, "how many orange suits do you own?"

"None."

"Orange ties?"

"That would be a big fat zero, as well."

"I think I've made my point."

And, she was off again, her long strides burning up the pavement, but there was no way he was letting her get away that easily.

"Which is?" he prodded, jogging up beside her. "And since when did our lazy afternoon stroll turn into a brisk jog?"

"Actually, I prefer power walking, myself. But," pausing, she flashed him a devilish grin, "if you insist," sprinting away before Pacey had a chance to say anything else.

Now Pacey was a strapping, virile young man, in his prime, who had no problem keeping up with the ladies. In the bedroom, that is. But out here on the streets, it was a completely different playing field.

The desk job and all those fancy dinner parties, not to mention the dozen Krispy Kreme donuts he consumed on a daily basis, didn't exactly do much for his physique. And why go running when you own a smokin' set of wheels?

To put it bluntly? He ate Joey's dust.

And somewhere, between the Worthington quad and her dorm room, he might've suffered a small heart attack. Or some angina, at the very least.

By the time he made it up the stairs (Was there an elevator in this damn building, and if so, why wasn't it properly marked?), Joey was lounging on the floor by her door, looking smug.

"How ya doin', Pace?"

Resting a hand on the top of the banister, he doubled over, trying to catch his breath as he choked out, "you're so…going to…pay for…this…"

Standing with an air of defiance, she laughed. "Oooh, the out of shape, sissy little boy is threatening me. I'll be in this room with the door locked and barred before your lungs even recover."

Both hands now on his knees, Pacey looked up at her, his breathing already evening out. "You wanna...make a bet?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the wall. "Depends on the stakes?"

"If I get to you first, you have to come to the party tonight…"

She cut him off. "But I already am!"

"You didn't let me finish," he said, straightening himself, the rapid pace of his heart finally giving way to a steadier rhythm. "You have to come to the party tonight, _and_ pay homage to my new TV, admit you were wrong about her, and worship at the altar of her high-tech loveliness."

"Fine," she sighed.

Suspicious of her agreeable nature, Pacey narrowed his gaze. She definitely had something up her sleeve.

"And if I win," Joey added, "you have to banish that horrid monstrosity from whence she came."

"You don't mean…?" he asked, horrified.

"Yes," she nodded gravely, "you've got to return the loudmouth eyesore."

"You seem pretty confident, Potter," he challenged, giving the best intimidating glare he could muster from across the hallway.

"That's because I'm going to win," she shot back, jutting her chin in the air and staring him down.

"Okay, then let's do this thing. On the count of three. One…"

"Two…"

"Three!" Pacey bellowed, the words no sooner out of his mouth and he was darting across the hall in Joey's direction, his earlier exhaustion all but forgotten.

Grabbing the doorknob, she twisted it frantically…only to find it was still locked! So used to Audrey usually being there this time of day, with the door open, anticipating her return, she hadn't even thought to have her key ready.

"Fuck," she muttered. Fumbling to get her keys out of her pocket, she glanced over her shoulder to see Pacey approaching at lightning speed. Luck on her side, she found the perfect fit on the first try, but no sooner had the lock given way when she felt strong arms encircling her waist.

And then they were tumbling through the open door, Joey shrieking, flailing to free herself.

But, no matter how hard she fought, Pacey wouldn't let go.

Blindly stumbling around the room, they finally landed on Joey's bed, a tangled, laughing mess of arms and legs, elbows and knees, jabbing and colliding, as each fought for control.

Pacey was the first to assert himself, rolling them until he was on top, pinning her wrists above her head, a maneuver performed with practiced ease.

They'd definitely been here before.

And as his fingers began their attack without hesitation, tickling and teasing in all the right places, the lines of time started blurring, receding and falling away, taking previously laid barriers with them.

Had they been here before, or were they there all over again?

"Pacey, that's it! Okay! I give up!" Joey pleaded in between giggles, the  
uncharacteristic girlish display something only he could conjure from her, and she both loved and loathed him for it.

"_Pacey_," she tried again, "I think I'm going to pee my pants!"

The possibility of impending bladder dysfunction stilled his hands, but it wasn't enough to get him to move.

Grinning down at her, he asked, "How does it feel to lose, Potter?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know, Pace," annoyed, she stopped to blow away the curtain of hair covering her face, "maybe, kind of like, _I have to pee_."

"I'm so not falling for that, Potter." Unmerciful, but at the same time, taking pity on her hair predicament, he reached down with his free hand to brush away the errant strands. "You've used that one on me before, remem-"

His words were halted by her eyes, the rich brown coming into view as he lifted the veil of dark locks hiding them. Eyes he'd seen countless times before.

Releasing her hands, he slid off her, kneeling on the bed, dazed.

Concerned, Joey sat up, placing a hand on his arm. "Pace, are you okay?"

Suddenly remembering where he was, he started coughing to cover. "Yeah, it's just…a tickle…" he pointed to his throat before beating on his chest with his fist, to add to his act, "maybe left over…from the run…"

"I'll go get you some water." Jumping up from the bed, she hurried to the bathroom, all the while, Pacey keeping up his charade.

He told himself it was just a momentary lapse. A little slip. Fleeting. It would pass.

Yep, any minute now.

Returning, Joey shoved a glass in his hand. "Here, drink this."

He gulped it willingly, hoping to wash down the fluttering feeling trying to bubble up from his stomach.

Finishing with a flourish, he gave the glass back to her, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange, and he flinched, pulling away as if burned.

"Okay, Pacey, what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing…I'm just…dizzy…must be from all the coughing…lack of oxygen and all that."

"Yeah, to your brain."

Ignoring her jab, Pacey continued, "I think, I uh…need to lie down."

Throwing himself back on the bed, he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax.

He was just stressed. Overworked. A hazard of his demanding job.

And yes, he'd been here before, too. Denial was an old friend.

His heart was racing again, but overexertion had nothing to do with it. Joey was stretching out beside him. He could feel her eyes boring into him, knew she was studying him with scrutiny, brow furrowed, lips pursed in concentration. Afraid he would crack under the pressure, blurt out something stupid that he'd never be able to take back, he resorted to the only survival tactic her knew.

And Doug said nervous rambling wasn't a valid life skill.

"Did you know, Jo, that if you're ever stranded out in the wilderness, Fritos could save your life?"

"That's it, I'm calling 911. Clearly you've suffered brain damage."

"No, no, I'm serious!" he exclaimed, careful to keep his eyes firmly closed. "I saw it on the Discovery Channel."

"Pace, how many times have I warned you about the evils of a basic cable education? It's lies, all lies."

"But, I saw it with my own two eyes, Jo!"

"Saw what exactly? Just how is a corn chip going to be my saving grace if ever I should get lost in the wild? Well, besides the obvious. I mean, I guess one could live solely on a Frito based diet."

"Definitely, but that's not all corn chips are good for. Did you know they're fried in so much oil, they're actually flammable?"

"Great," she threw up her hands, "so now you're telling me Fritos will not only clog my arteries, they're a possible fire hazard too?"

"Not a hazard, Jo. _A life-saving tool_. As in 'Oh dear, I'm lost in the desert and I'm so cold'," he mocked in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. "'If only I could start a fire. But wait, I have some Fritos'. And then you pull out the chips, light 'em up, and voila! You'll be roasting marshmallows in no time."

"Right, because I would just happen to have those on me too. And what happens if I don't have a lighter, or matches? Huh? Can I just rub two Fritos together to make fire?"

"Uh," he scratched his head, "I hadn't thought about that."

"See? Lies, all lies," she repeated, her voice a hushed, ominous whisper, but her eyes sparkled with bemusement.

And that's when he realized he'd forgotten to keep his eyes closed.

Quickly snapping his head toward the ceiling, he reprimanded himself for being so stupid.

"Pacey, what's wrong?" Joey asked again, but her question was ignored.

"Last night, I couldn't sleep, so I watched some _Little House on the Prairie_."

"Oh no," she groaned, "is it time for the Little House Lesson of the Day?"

"Is there ever _not_ a time for words of wisdom from Ma and Pa Ingalls?"

"Yes."

"It was a rhetorical question, Jo."

"The answer's still yes, Pace."

"Fine, then I guess you won't know what to do after your stagecoach overturns on your way to Sleepy Eye, leaving your beloved husband pinned, with you the only one who can go for help."

"Uh, Pace, I'm thinking I would just _walk_ to the next town."

"Did I forget to mention, you're blind?"

"Oh, so this happened to Mary, the older sister."

"Exactly, and she trips over a rock or something and gets knocked unconscious. And when she falls, these glasses slip from her pocket, and there's some dried up grass or hey or something all around her, and the sun hits the glasses, catching the grass on fire and…"

"Whoa, what the hell is Mary doing with glasses if she's blind?"

"Um…"

"That's it, I'm calling Jack right now and telling him to get rid of the evil cable television."

"Yeah, well I caught Jack listening to _Kidz Bop Four_ this morning, so what the hell does he know?"

And then they were laughing again, uncontrollably.

When their laughter died down, Joey spoke first.

"Pacey, do I really look like someone who would wear an orange hat?"

"And we're back to the hat again," he chuckled. "Why is this bothering you so much?"

"I don't know," she sighed, "maybe for the same reason it bothers you that you _don't_ wear orange anymore."

"So you're saying we have problems because you don't want to wear orange, and I do?"

"Yes…no…I don't know. It's just that, remember how you were saying this morning that you'd like to think you could get back to the person you used to be?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that guy, he wore orange."

"Yeah, he did," Pacey drawled out slowly, "a very loud shade that you hated, remember? And I thought you said it didn't matter what I wore, you were proud of me."

"I am." Turning to face him, she placed a reassuring hand on his arm, and his gaze involuntarily drifted in her direction, but only for a moment. "You know I'm proud of you. I guess, what I'm trying to say is, those bright orange shirts, are like…a symbol. Or maybe reminder is a better word."

"For what?"

"For who you are, who you'll always be."

"What if I don't know who I want to be?" he whispered, the question escaping from his lips before he had a chance to stop it.

"What if I want to be the kind of girl who wears orange hats?"

The air around them suddenly stifling, Pacey tried to make a joke. "Even dirty ones that are too big?"

But his lame attempt at comedy fell flat, Joey not even really hearing him.

"Maybe if I was," she continued, trying to keep her voice steady, "he would've stayed."

He didn't have to look at her to know she was crying, but he did anyway. Her eyes were big and round and glassy, a lone tear spilling out over and down her cheek. His hand instinctively moving to her face to catch it with the pad of his thumb, he let it rest there, the feel of her cool, smooth skin against his palm so familiar.

He'd been here before, too, with her crying over another guy and him, acting as a shoulder. Even when it was just the two of them, another someone would always come between. First it was another boy, now another man. And she would never see all that he was to her, all that he could be.

Orange shirts or suits and ties, no matter what he wore, she would never really see him.

For reasons he couldn't understand, her vision was tunneled, and Pacey always seemed to be standing in her blind spot.

Slowly sliding his hand from her face, he opened his mouth to answer, play the good friend that he had genuinely come to be. It was why she asked in the first place, what she was expecting, even if she wasn't consciously aware. It was the roles they now played, were good at.

"Pacey," she grabbed his hand, startling him, "you left."

Except, she just went off script.

He could only nod, all the while silently pleading for her not to go there. Not now. He wasn't sure he could handle it.

"But…you came back."

Her simple, yet unexpected statement shoved at him, knocking the air from his lungs, and he just stared, waiting for her to go on.

"And, not just in the literal sense," she explained, her endearing habit of talking with her hands causing her to let go of his, "'cause Dawson, he's left me too, but it's not like I didn't just see him at Christmas. But you…well…after all that we've…I mean, you could've just written me off. Actually, you probably should've. But, you're here. _Really_ here."

_"Where else would I be?"_

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but his mouth wouldn't let them out. He hesitated, and the moment passed, because Joey was talking again.

"Oh my God, is that the right time?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbow to look over him at the clock on the bedside table. "You need to go or you're going to be late for your own party," tugging on his arm, she pulled him up, "and I have to get ready or I'm going to be late too."

"Yeah," he found his voice again, "you have to be on time, we have bets to settle."

"Bets? What bets? I don't remember any bets."

"Don't try to play dumb, Jo. You know perfectly well we made a bet, right out there in that hallway."

"It was a rhetorical question, Pace," she smirked, patting him on the shoulder as she stood.

"The answer's still the same."

Gazing down at him, her teasing smile softened. "Hey Pace?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

At a loss for words once more, he could only curve his lips to match her own, his eyes conveying that he understood.

But, the way she was looking at him...

They'd been here before, but never quite like this.

When you come full circle with someone, it's a strange feeling, not knowing where to go from there. Three hundred sixty degrees covers a lot of ground, and you can either keep going round and round on the familiar, or veer off the path in a completely different direction.

Pacey, he was on the edge.

And for him, there was only one way to go.

Rising, he walked toward her. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," she bobbed her head up and down, then reiterated, "yeah, I really think I am."

"Okay, I'll see ya later then?"

"Yep, but only if you leave right now so I can get ready."

"Fine, fine, I'm going." Giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze, he moved past her to the door. "Thanks for the lovely afternoon, Miss Potter."

Walking to his car, Pacey couldn't shake the feeling he'd left something behind. Mentally, he ran down the checklist. Keys, wallet, watch, it was all there. He didn't really carry much else.

Still, something was missing. He'd have to ask Joey if she'd found anything of his.

Later, at the party, she would tell him no, she hadn't come across anything.

But, once again, tunnel vision prevented her from looking down, and she'd missed what was right under her nose.

If she'd been able to glance in that direction, she would've found his heart, lying at her feet.

**_The End_**

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**Thanks for reading!**


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